10 Simple Steps to being Single
by legalliz
Summary: Stephanie Plum's at it again, but this time with a self-help book as her guide. Could it be the solution she's been waiting for to help sort out all her relationship troubles? Or is history doomed to repeat itself?
1. Chapter 1

"Oh hells to the no, Steph." The ho turned file clerk turned assistant bounty hunter, Lula, was fidgeting so much in the seat next to me, I was almost positive she was about to have a wardrobe malfunction. Which could get interesting. Lula was a curvy, chocolatey former prostitute with a rather voluptuous figure she liked to pretend was a size two, which just so happened to be about six sizes off. That meant one wrong twist or pull on the already taught and straining fabric and all her chocolatey assets would be spilling out all over the place faster than you could say FTA.

That's short for Failure to Appear, by the way. It's bounty hunter speak for the charming individuals who skip bail that I track down for my cousin Vinny who just so happens to be my employer at a bail bonds office in Trenton, New Jersey. It's a riot. Especially on days like today when I'm having serious regrets about not getting a functional degree in school. No joke. Just about anything would be better than this.

"They're just a bunch of cats," I say diplomatically, trying to find the silver lining here.

"A bunch of cats? Seriously? I counted fifteen of those hissing flea bags since we pulled up to the curb alone, and that unkempt grassy lawn's movin' around like it's got at least a dozen more hidden away. No offense, but that is taking Crazy Cat Lady to a whole new level." She gives as shudder. "Besides," she glances over at me and coughs dramatically into the crook of her arm. "I'm allergic, remember?"

The cough was obviously fake, but the allergies I knew were real. She had me there.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll go get Big Mama." I slide out of the driver's seat of my new-to-me Jeep Cherokee and take a brief inventory of my bounty hunting paraphernalia. Flexi-cuffs, check. Pepper spray, check. Slightly illegal yet super useful stun gun, um…maybe check? I can't exactly remember the last time I charged the thing. And lip gloss, double check. I swipe some on for an added boost of confidence before heading up the walk to the rundown house.

Dina "Big Mama" Carson had been arrested for a hit and run a couple weeks back just a few blocks down the road from my mom's favorite deli. She claimed she thought the man she "bumped" with her car was her no-good, deadbeat husband who deserved far worse than the shattered leg and pelvis he got. Unfortunately, the man she hit wasn't her husband, and the "run" part of the hit and run happened when she realized she'd actually hit the pastor of the local Presbyterian church instead. Whoops.

The problem now was that Big Mama wasn't exactly keen on the whole legal system. Her views were so legendary in fact that the cops didn't even bother correcting her slightly skewed views of the law anymore. It was a weird local truce of sorts. If she stayed in her crazy cat house and didn't bother anybody, no one mentioned the expired tabs on her car or all the fish she obtained sans permit to feed her precious fur babies.

I guess it's hard to look the other way though when you hit a man of God and flee the scene. That kind of stuff's not only crossing legal lines but moral ones too. And although I may not be as devout a churchgoer as I ought to be (of which my mother incessantly reminds me), even I know you don't want to be playing around with justice where God's concerned. So here I am. Bringing in the guilty to ensure my moral slate stays clean.

Or as clean as it can be. I'm pretty sure mine's never been in pristine condition.

I knock on the door all politeness and smiles because my inner Burgian would chastise me if I didn't and try my best to ignore the hisses, growls, and screechy cat sounds coming from the creepy yard behind me. The stares of god knows how many glowing, beady little eyes watch as I shift on my feet uncomfortably waiting for Big Mama to answer her door. _Be strong, Steph_, I tell myself. _They can probably smell fear_.

Or food. I should have really rethought that tuna sandwich I had for lunch today.

My heebie-jeebie scale is just about to reach _abort_ levels when I finally hear some movement from inside the house just before the lock tumbles on the door. Big Mama suspiciously cracks the thing open and gives me a quick once-over.

"You here selling them Girl Scout cookies again?"'

I'm seriously beginning to doubt the integrity of Big Mama's eyesight. "Uh, not exactly," I stammer. "I'm actually here on behalf of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. You missed your court date Dina, so I'm going to need you to come with me down to the police station to reschedule."

Her eyes narrow. "I don't do no police."

Right.

Here's the thing. A rookie on the job would have probably missed the signs that this is the point in the apprehension process where the door slams in your face. I, on the other hand, am a well-seasoned bounty-hunting badass (or so I like to tell myself) and have already surreptitiously wedged my foot in the doorway. And I'm even wearing the right shoes today, so I only wince a little when the door comes smashing hard against my toes.

I take the brief moment of surprise to shove my shoulder against the door and push my way inside while Big Mama stumbles back a few steps. Her eyes go a little dark and scary at my stubborn persistence, but then out of nowhere her lip starts quivering and she suddenly bursts into tears.

"I didn't mean it," she sobs. "Honest." The way her body shakes as she cries reminds me a little of the gelatinous aspic my mom used to make for the holidays, one little movement sending the whole thing rippling with aftershocks. "Tiny and Baby had to go to the vet that morning with terrible tummy troubles, my hot water heater had just gone out for the second time this year, and I found lipstick smudges on my dirty, rotten husband's work shirt."

Despite my inner promise not to get sucked in, I could feel Big Mama's sob story start tugging on my heartstrings. Cheating husbands were the worst. And I would know. I'd had one of those in a past life. "Sorry," I offer with a consoling pat to her shoulder. "Men suck."

"They really do," she sniffles her agreement.

"I hear the judges are pretty sympathetic to that kind of thing."

Big Mama starts dabbing at her runny nose with her sleeve. "Really?"

"Yeah." It's a bit of a lie since hit and runs are pretty serious stuff, but you never know. Stranger things have been known to happen.

"But who's going to take care of my furry little sweethearts while I'm gone?" she asks.

As if on some weird, cosmic que, one of said furry sweethearts comes and rubs up against my leg. I glance down and get an angry hiss for daring to make eye contact. "Uh… Surely a neighbor or something would…"

"Josie's on vacation this week," Big Mama says, cutting me off. "And I don't trust anyone else round here." She looks up at me expectantly. "Would you mind stopping by?"

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. "Sure. Why not?" I say before my common sense has a chance to kick in properly.

Big Mama grabs her purse from the table and pulls a key off her key ring, handing it to me. "Twice a day would be great. Food's in the freezer. Water bowls are out back."

Right.

Big Mama locks up the house and we head for the jeep where Lula appears to be enjoying some karaoke time. I open the backseat door for Big Mama just in time to catch a terribly off-key version of Celine Dion's Titanic masterpiece.

We both cringe. "Let me guess," Big Mama says as she climbs inside. "You're bringing that one in for disturbing the peace with her god-awful singing."

"She's actually my partner," I mumble, slightly embarrassed.

Lula finishes up her song and finger-waves to Big Mama in the back. I buckle in, and just like that, we're off to the police station. All things considered, this wasn't really all that bad of an apprehension. Minus some sore toes and a few dozen cats I have no idea what to do with, I'm actually feeling pretty good about it.

We drop Big Mama off and head back to the bonds office because Lula is starting to go all puffy-eyed and sneezy from the residual cat fur and isn't all that interested in a victory donut today. "You're probably gonna wanna get a vacuum back there, Steph," Lula says, pointing to my back seat. "Otherwise you're going to have to do this whole bounty hunting thing solo for a while." She blows her nose again before reaching for something in the back.

"This yours?" she asks, holding up a book.

I inspect the cover. _Ten Simple Steps to being Single._ "Nope. Not mine. It must have fallen out of Big Mama's purse back at the station or something."

"Hunh." Lula cracks it open and reads a few pages. "Big Mama must be having some pretty serious man troubles."

Here's the funny thing though. Big Mama isn't the only one.


	2. Chapter 2

I make it home a few hours later, and my charming roommate, Rex the wonder hamster, greets me with his usual indifference. I plunk a cracker, a grape, and some hamster pellets in his cage, and he finally decides to give me a sniff or two of recognition before scurrying back into his soup can with his loot.

"You're welcome," I snort, dropping my things on the kitchen counter. I notice then that I've had three missed calls, and I have a hunch one of them is from my mother. The woman has been frantically trying to set me up with a "suitable" husband again—probably because her friend, Rita, has a daughter my age who was recently in a terrible car accident and now can't have children of her own.

I really do feel bad for the daughter if that was something she'd been looking forward to in life, but truth be told, I wouldn't be all that broken-hearted if kids weren't in the cards for me. This concept, of course, does not register with my mother—at all, so instead of trying to explain it to her for the umpteenth time, I simply play the "dutiful daughter" card, show up, have a family meal with the eligible bachelor of the week and call it a day.

Sure it's a bit of a long-standing lie, but seriously, you really can't judge until you've met my mother. Spend twenty minutes alone with that woman, and I'll guarantee you'd do the same exact thing.

Ironically call number two is from an eligible bachelor. Actually, it's from someone who happens to be part of those "man troubles" I mentioned earlier. Morelli. He's a great cop, not such a great boyfriend, but he's all sorts of my kind of hot and we've been dating off and on for so many years now that he feels pretty comfortable. Kinda like an old pair of jeans. You know what you're going to get when you put them on because you've worn them so much, but they're kind of not all that flattering anymore. That's pretty much us. At some point I think we might have been a really good fit for each other. But now…

Third call's from a wrong number. I sigh and fall back onto my old, junky couch.

A part of me wants to call Morelli back because he sounds a little on the lonely side. And maybe I'm feeling a little on the lonely side too. Plus I almost can't remember why I even stormed out of his house and back to my place…again. It might have been dishes. Or a glob of toothpaste in the sink. Or it might just have been that he was driving me crazy—and not in a good way.

This makes me thunk my forehead repeatedly with my hand, debating whether or not to ignore that sneaky little devil on my shoulder when Big Mama's book conveniently falls out of my bag onto the counter. It makes me mutter some choice words because I'm suddenly reminded about the whole cats-from-hell feeding situation I've gotten myself into. Note to self: call Tank (aka: the cat whisperer)…but after figuring out this whole Morelli thing.

I pick up the book. Ten easy steps, huh? Of course I suppose you have to actually _want_ to be single in the first place. But I'm kind of single at the moment anyway, I guess. So cracking the book open and reading step one couldn't really hurt, right?

The text is in a fun and funky script. _Step One to Being Single: Take Time for Yourself. _

_When was the last time you took some time just for you? _

I stop and think about that a moment. Because in all honesty, I'm _constantly_ doing things for other people. From feeding cats for someone I barely even know to going on unwanted blind dates to dropping Lula off at her nail appointments. It might all stem from an inherent do-gooder nature or quite possibly from my manners-first upbringing, but for whatever reason, I usually come last on my long list of things to take care of. Even behind Rex the wonder hamster. One time I even gave him my last cracker even though I hadn't eaten anything all day and there were slim pickings for alternative snacks in my cupboards. If that's not love, I really don't know what is.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to bump my wants and needs to the forefront for a while.

I read on, and before I know it, I've completely devoured chapter one of the book. Taking care of yourself first is a freaking brilliant concept! Why have I never thought to do such a thing before? (There are actually suggestions as to why this may be all conveniently laid out in the chapter, and I think it's actually because I fall into the "people pleaser" category, but that's beside the point.)

I decide not to call Morelli back.

And decide to do something nice for myself instead.

Right after I call Tank.

I grab my phone and dial his number. The line rings twice, and a familiar voice answers.

"Babe."

Hold up. What the…? I do a double-take of the number I just dialed on my phone. "Uh…sorry, Ranger," I sputter. "I actually meant to call Tank. I must have…" Nope. I really _did_ call Tank's number. Hmm...

"Tank's a bit indisposed at the moment," he replies.

"Ah," I frown. "Indisposed in what capacity exactly?"

"He's on a special assignment for me."

Damn. "I see."

"Something you need help with?"

I crinkle my nose. "No…"

"Stephanie."

"Yeah?"

"I can hear your nose crinkle all the way from here."

Double damn. "I don't crinkle my nose."

"You do when you're irritated. What do you need help with?"

The man knows me too well. I blow out a sigh in resignation. "Cats."

"As in the four-legged type?"

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Yes," I groan.

"Do I even want to know?"

"No," I groan louder.

"Where and when, babe?"

"Big Mama's." There's a long pause, and I'm pretty sure Ranger is fighting back a full-on laugh. "It's really not that funny," I add.

"No one said it was." Except I can still hear the smile in his voice. "Want to meet up tomorrow morning?"

"Your morning or my morning? I'd prefer to handle the cat situation with the benefit of some sunlight if you don't mind."

"I have a meeting at seven. Want to shoot for the afternoon?"

"One O'clock work for you?"

"Sure."

Great. That was almost a pain-free request.

"Oh, and babe?"

Apparently I spoke too soon… "Yeah?"

"This is gonna cost you."

"Yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that. What am I in for?"

"Don't know yet." There's another lengthy pause followed by, "But I'm sure I'll think of something."

I make a face. "Can't wait," I mutter and end the call.

I fall back onto the couch and start thunking my head again. Because here's the thing. Ranger (aka: Ricardo Carlos Manoso) is the other part of my current "man troubles." And I can guarantee you there is nothing in that cute little book on how to stay single when Ranger has you in his sights. So basically I'm screwed.

_A/N: Happy Birthday Michelle! This one's for you. Thanks for always being such a faithful supporter of all my stories. Hopefully this one lives up to expectations. For the rest of you (or for anyone interested), check out the first few chapters of my revised version of Smoke and Mirrors (a full-length story) on Wattpad. My screen name is LegalLiz1, author name: Liz Hardy. Hope you all enjoy!_


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